


Stammering pieces of your old name

by mischianza



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Orcs, POV First Person, Silmarils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischianza/pseuds/mischianza
Summary: Melkor returns with the Silmarils. There is something changed about him. Mairon does not think he likes it.





	Stammering pieces of your old name

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To the Other Shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457163) by [mischianza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischianza/pseuds/mischianza). 



> Title is from Rainer Maria Rilke's Book of Hours: 
> 
> _"And since that instant they have stammered only pieces of your old name."_

For several nights I have had a dream (awful, considering I ordinarily do not dream, and I cannot understand how this one in particular slipped through): my lord is beside me, yet we are in bed, and I wear something as shapeless as a sheet that covers as much. My lord is content, and he kisses me in a manner I can only describe as…chaste. I ask him when he will begin the ritual, and he says we are going to wait until we are wed. _Wed!_ As though we are _elves_! I awake, disgusted. 

We have been apart for some time, but I appreciate my lord’s efforts to leave me alone until I am ready to receive him. I think this as I stand before the mirror in his chambers, placing gold bands along my arms, slender chains around my neck, making my hair shine with a metallic gleam. I anoint myself with oil. My lord will expect me to show him all that I have done—and I have done much, so this will take a considerable amount of time—but I anticipate that he will perform the ritual first. He certainly will if he lays his eyes on me.

 

Naturally, I am correct. I am not facing the door, as it is behind where I have placed myself upon the bed, yet I hear it open abruptly. “ **Mairon** ,” says Lord Melkor. “ **I have won**.” There is something changed in his voice…it is more intense somehow; there is almost a giddiness to it. 

“Won…” My voice is scarcely more than a breath. 

“ **And you are here, waiting!** ” He laughs. Arms reach around me, hands running over my face, chest, back, destroying the hair and jewels I worked to perfect. “ **Mairon** ,” he growls. “ **My Mairon**.” This is almost excessive, but the preliminary phase is always mercifully short. Then I notice his hands…

“My lord, your…your hands are hideous!” Something has burned them, leaving his palms entirely scarred. “Can you not heal them?” A shadow crosses his face. I remember myself. “I mean…” I lower my eyelashes. “Might I heal them for you, my lord?” 

He grunts, most likely an affirmative, and he shoves his hands in my face. “ **These jewels are my greatest prize**.” I cannot heal him. What did this? I am lost in thought until he returns (evidently he left the bed briefly), holding a cloth bag that appears to be glowing. Lord Melkor’s breathing is heavy. “ **These**.” He opens the bag, his eyes alight.   
It is the brightest thing I have ever seen. My eyes burn, yet this is not power, it is only…pain. Pain! _Why_ did he bring this, whatever it is—

“ **They burn. They burned me**.” 

Oh, I am angry. “ **Why did you—** “ Lord Melkor places a hand against my mouth. 

“ **Shhhh. These are the finest gems in the world—no! The finest THINGS of any sort!!** ” He begins kissing along my neck, making the chains uncomfortably cold and undoubtedly leaving marks. 

“How will you touch them, my lord?” 

His voice grows soft, whispering to me. “I will crown myself with them, and all who gaze upon me will see that I possess them.” He bites, as always, and I almost recall how this feels… “I will possess them as I possess _you_.” My eyes grow wide. My hands form fists. Lord Melkor laughs, not ceasing the movement of his hands. He leans over me, making me lay down. “Mairon, what angers you? Now we can destroy their precious children.” 

Yes, but…I, the Lieutenant of Angband, nothing more than a _jewel_ for his _crown_?! “I am your lieutenant!”

“Hm, yes. A perfectly adequate one, too.” He runs his fingernails over my chest.

“ _Adequate_?!” Why does he think I _like_ this? (I would, if he would shut his mouth…)

“The fortress has yet to be rebuilt.” Oh. That. 

“I did not want to attempt it without your instruction, my lord.”

“Hm,” he grunts, evidently bored already. He presses his arms against either side of my face, almost cupping it in some way. Yet he does not do anything, merely breathes heavily, staring wildly into my eyes (also wild, but in confusion). Will he not do anything? Why are we here? (Great Void, do I think that every time we are in this position?)  
He stays still (why is he not yet moving?), speaking in a low voice only I can hear: “Oh, Mairon, soon it will all be mine and I will tear this world apart and make it great.” How lovely. “Does that not please you?” I nod, as I should. 

It evidently occurs to him that he is still clothed, and he lets me go to remedy this. In that moment I see the light of the jewels again, burning incessantly from the sack that holds them, and I am _furious_. I have never felt such a thing toward my lord but I cannot help it; I am furious that he thought to compare me to things he would keep in a sack, and present as a trophy. I, at least, can think for myself and order the world. The jewels cannot do that. They only burn.   
I am standing, and pulling a robe around my shoulders, and he yells for me but I am somehow walking through the door…

He must have cursed me there, with all the power he commands (considerable), for as soon as I leave I hear unpleasant voices. One belongs to an Orc captain whom I despise, and he speaks of me. 

“Lieutenant Mairon is frigid.” His companion must disagree, for he continues: “That’s why he was always in the lord’s chamber, or waiting for him. He needs to be loosened up constantly.” They laugh, screeching sounds that must unravel distant pieces of the Void—a thought both entertaining and frightening. “I say he needs to be loosened more, and _faster_!” No. “What? No, I am not attracted to that! He’s pretty, everyone knows it, and if he were a _woman—_ “

I descend upon them in the corridor, calling for any other guards. Some arrive within seconds, and I instruct them to take the captain outside and eliminate him. The other Orc is shoved by the blade of my shoulder as I continue walking. 

In my own chambers, I become aware of the situation. I will be replaced. Lord Melkor will find some weakling with clumsy hands who cannot forge anything and who cares little for organization, as long as he can service him. _I_ will be _replaced_! What made me leave? What made me question him? I could have said nothing, I could have made my face blank, and I would still have my position. 

I am now nothing. I scream until the mirror shatters.


End file.
